Another One
by AGirloftheSouth
Summary: Everyone dies.  Just not in this story. In fact, no one dies in this story. Fluff and dare met ;


A/N – This is a birthday present. Happy Birthday Scopes.

Warning – Male/Male dirty bits to follow, don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer – Not making a dime.

* * *

><p><span>Another One<span>

Sherlock was already gone when John woke up - not surprising as the Barnsbury thief was still at large. John stretched in the empty bed and buried his face in Sherlock's pillow, taking in the faint scent of his husband. He'd been coming home late and leaving early; John hated those Sherlock-less days. He counted to ten in his head and climbed out of bed and headed to the shower.

He noticed the coffee smell as soon as he exited the bathroom. Perhaps he'd been wrong - if there was fresh coffee Sherlock was still there. John wrapped the towel around his waist and climbed down the stairs. There was no Sherlock but the coffee maker was running and there was a stack of pancakes and fresh bacon sitting on a plate. John frowned at them before noticing the white sheet of paper sitting beside the plate. It had obviously been hastily torn from a notebook.

_John, _

_Have a good day. _

_Love, SH_

John smiled at it and shook his head. He placed it on the fridge under one of their few magnets before pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting down to eat his breakfast.

* * *

><p>There was a knock on his office door just as he finished with his patient. He smiled as Dr. Montgomery came in carrying a small bag and held it out to him. "This was just delivered for you," she said and John frowned. He hadn't ordered food, but whatever it was smelled delicious.<p>

He took the bag with mumbled thanks. He sat it on his desk and opened it up. It was from Angelo's, and he smiled pulling the containers out; it appeared to be a sampling of his favourites. At the very bottom of the bag there was a note. Sherlock's simple scrawl filled up the page.

_John,_

_I apologise for not being able to take you to lunch. Please enjoy this and I will see you this evening. _

_Love, SH_

John pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text message: "Thank you." He didn't receive a response but that didn't surprise him. If Sherlock was working, he wouldn't get one.

He put the note with his bag and grabbed a fork. He decided to start with the fettuccine alfredo.

* * *

><p>It was raining on his way home, a cold autumn rain that made him wish he'd brought a coat instead of his lightweight jacket. He pulled the lapels across his chest and crossed his arms. It wasn't a long walk from the tube stop to the flat, but it was long enough that he was going to be soaked when he got home.<p>

John made a mental note to start carrying an umbrella - he lived in London and he needed an umbrella. He entered his block and could smell wood burning; one of the flats had a fire going and he was jealous. A fire would be warm, something he was decidedly not. His fingers were shaking as he pulled out his key and let himself into 221 Baker Street. He heard the sound of Mrs. Hudson's telly as he mounted the stairs to his flat. He would check on her later, her hip had a tendency to hurt when it rained or got cold suddenly and he wanted to make sure she was all right.

He wanted to get warm first though. John opened his door and was greeted with a wonderful mix of smells.

The fire was from their flat and it was hot and roaring when he walked into the living room. John walked over to it immediately and held out his hands, feeling the waves of heat sweep over him. He looked over and Sherlock was leaning against the wall watching him. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his arms were crossed. He had a smug smirk on his face and John felt himself smile at the sight.

"What are you smiling at?" John asked playfully, rubbing his hand together quickly before holding them out to the fire again.

"You," Sherlock said easily, straightening and making his way over to his husband. He stood behind John and grabbed the collar of the mostly wet jacket. John held his arms back and Sherlock gently pulled it off of him.

"I'm a fan of you soaking wet," Sherlock stated, walking back towards the kitchen. He draped the jacket over one of the chairs as he continued. "Moisture does this interesting thing to your hair." He eyed John from kitchen. The smirk returned and there was a slight nod of his head. John felt himself blush and that only made Sherlock's smile grow.

The tall figure walked over to him again, long arms reaching around John so the he could slowly undo the buttons on John's shirt.

"You'll never get warm if we don't get you out of these wet clothes. 'You'll catch your death', as my grandmother would have said." John leaned back his weight settling into the warm chest behind him and he started to laugh.

His body shook with it, his breath catching until the noise became an almost silent wheeze. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his side ached. If Sherlock moved, John knew he'd crash to the floor. He didn't care. He just laughed.

He felt Sherlock stiffen behind him and start to move away, but John covered his husband's arms, securing him.

"I'm sorry," John managed before getting lost in another fit of giggles. He pushed his fingers through Sherlock's and after a few gulping breaths managed to get control of himself.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's just that we've been married over three years, were a couple before that, and mates before that. I have never, ever heard you quote your grandmother before. Especially in that motherly, learn-the-lesson way. It was unexpected."

Sherlock didn't relax, but John knew that he wasn't angry. "I doubt my grandmother was significantly different from anyone else's. Isn't the roll fairly universal?"

John shrugged and brought the long fingers up to place a kiss on them. "I guess so. I just can't picture you being chased around by an elderly woman criticising your actions. I think even as a child you wouldn't have tolerated that."

Sherlock sighed behind him and pulled his hand away. He moved back enough to push John's shirt from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The soft cotton of Sherlock's dress shirt pressed into John's back and the warmth of Sherlock's body was palpable underneath. John closed his eyes and let his head lean back on Sherlock's shoulder again. A smile crossed his face as fingers started to work on his belt and trousers.

"I was a genius as a child, John, but I was still a child. I did not solve the world's problems or plot political coups while mother pushed me in the pram."

"I know," John said feeling his smile grow. "You wanted to be a pirate! Mycroft told me that once." Sherlock huffed, but his hands continued to expertly remove the belt from the loops. John knew Sherlock didn't care that he knew, but that he was slightly annoyed that Mycroft had shared the information. "And if your mother actually ever pushed the pram-"

"All right," Sherlock said, dropping the belt onto the floor. "I don't wish to discuss my mother when I'm about to put my hand down my husband's pants."

"Mmmm, agreed." John shifted his weigh, spreading his legs slightly farther apart. The button snapped open and the material pulled tight around John's waist as the hand and forearm moved down. The long fingers wormed their way underneath the elastic of his briefs and Sherlock's hand wrapped around him.

Soft lips pressed against John's jaw and he sighed. Arousal and the pleasant feelings that came with it started to spread throughout his body. "That's nice," he mumbled as Sherlock's fingers pressed into his balls.

Sherlock hummed a response into his neck. "After your laughing at me I should let you freeze."

John shook his head, resting his hand on Sherlock's elbow. As Sherlock fingers brushed over his cock and he could feel himself start to twitch in response. He also felt the sodding wet mess that were his trousers pulling on his legs. Sherlock was indifferent to John's discomfort though, he loved to feel John's erection form in his hand.

Lips on his jaw again, and moving down along his neck and to his collar bone. John tilted his head to the side. "I never laugh _at _you," he said, amending it immediately, "Well rarely. I just like to remember every once in a while that my genius, Grecian statue of a husband really is a human being."

"Why would you think otherwise?" Sherlock managed between kisses, darting his tongue along John's collar bone. Sherlock's other hand came up and worked the zip down on John's trousers. John sighed again as the long fingers wrapped around him and started to pull gently. His heart started to pound and he felt himself getting harder with every tug.

"I don't know," he started, his breath catching as Sherlock rolled his palm over the slowly emerging head. "I— you're remarkable," John managed, the words getting confused as Sherlock pulled his hand away. "Oh," John said pushing his hips forwards slightly into the air. He felt Sherlock smile against his shoulder, lips pressing into the spread of scar tissue that marked his exit wound.

"Is being remarkable such a bad thing?" Long fingers pushed inside his trousers and pushed the material down. Sherlock managed to catch the briefs too and John's cock snapped up as the material moved past them. The room was cool on his damp skin, but Sherlock and the fire were quickly rectifying that.

John brought is legs together, toed off his shoes and kicked his trousers and pants away. He spread his legs again and leaned back against his husband. "Not at all," he answered finally. "There is nothing wrong with being remarkable; there is nothing wrong with you."

"Good," Sherlock said turning his head to nuzzle John's ear. "So," he said biting gently on the lobe as he sucked it between his lips. "I think I'm going to fuck you right here."

John groaned and long fingers traced up his inner thighs, they danced through the curls on either side of his cock and then moved slowly up his stomach. Goosebumps erupted in their wake.

Sherlock pushed forward and John took all of his own weight again. "Put your hands on the wall." John did, spreading his fingers until his thumbs were touching the top of the mantle. He couldn't quite see in the mirror. He shifted, grabbing the skull and moving it off to the side. He didn't want to be watched. He put his hand back on the wall and settled his weight.

"Good," Sherlock said behind him. John looked over his shoulder to see his husband quickly stripping down. The white shirt and dark trousers dropped to the floor, and the burgundy boxers joining them a moment later. Sherlock took a step towards the small table next to his chair and opened the drawer. He pulled out one of the familiar clear plastic containers. Occasionally, when John would clean he would be alarmed by all the places they had lube stashed, but in moments like this it seemed absolutely brilliant.

Sherlock flipped the lid and poured a liberal amount on to his fingers. He smiled at John before setting the lube on the mantle and reaching between Johns' legs.

He brushed past the balls first, gently squeezing each sack before rolling them in his palm. A kiss was placed into the back of John's neck and he leaned his head forward, closing his eyes. "I can always tell how long I've been on a case by your balls," Sherlock mumbled pulling on the sacks again. John nodded, his body had long gotten use to the regular sex schedule he and Sherlock managed to keep, and when Sherlock was working John's body would start to protest. "Not too bad though," Sherlock whispered. "Four days." He rolled the sacks again and then pulled his hand away. They hadn't had sex in a week, but it had been four days since John masturbated. Sherlock's ability to determine this had always amazed him.

The fingers settled in the cleft at the top of his ass cheeks and slowly pushed down. The lube was still cool to the touch and when Sherlock's fingers pushed past his opening John shuddered. A second later an index finger pushed into him.

"God you're always so tight John. I love it." A second finger joined the first and third followed almost immediately. John leaned his head against the mantle and spread his legs further. Sherlock shifted behind him and he felt Sherlock's cock brush the back of his thighs. John's knees wobbled but he managed to lock them.

"Please," he whispered as Sherlock's fingers started to spread inside of him. The skin stretched, the muscles gave way, and a moment later the fingers were gone. Sherlock reached up and grabbed the lube. John watched the bottle disappear and looked over his shoulder. Sherlock was looking down, his arm moving meticulously. John couldn't see far enough to watch his husband coat himself, but he could picture it clearly and it made him shudder.

Sherlock looked up and their eyes locked. They smiled at each other for a split second before Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's chest and reached between them to position himself. John looked forward and closed his eyes as Sherlock pushed in.

"Oh," John said through gritted teeth as Sherlock pulled all the way out and pushed all the way back in. "God," he said when Sherlock did it again. John's fingers curled against the wall and he forced his legs not to shake.

Sherlock's forehead rested against his shoulder and John knew Sherlock was watching. He was watching as he pulled out again, and pushed all the way forward. John leaned his head against the mantle and arched his back giving Sherlock a better view. The next thrust was less coordinated and John smiled. When Sherlock pulled out again, John forced his hips down, impaling himself. Sherlock shuddered and his weight settled against John. John braced his arms, but Sherlock straightened just a second later.

A hand settled on John's hip and the other one moved from his chest downwards. Long fingers wrapped around him and John thrust into them. Sherlock struggled for a moment to match the rhythm, but managed it as he rested his cheek on John's shoulder.

John moaned feeling the tightening start to form in his groin. And on his next thrust forward Sherlock held the foreskin and pushed it over John's sensitive head. John's legs wobbled again, and his neck felt too weak to hold his head up.

"I'm close," he managed and Sherlock placed a kiss into his shoulder. A thumb brushed over the head of his cock as Sherlock added a little hitch to his thrust.

"Shit," John said, scratching at the wallpaper. Sherlock repeated the action. "Oh fuck," John said as he bucked forward. He managed to take a step and catch his weight as he came. His body sagged as Sherlock kept pulling on him, cum dripping from Sherlock's fingers onto the floor. It had been four days, after all.

Sherlock brushed his fingers over the head one more time and John cringed - too sensitive. Sherlock released him and John managed to lock his legs again, bracing himself against the wall as the euphoria settled in him.

"Come on, Sherlock," he said. "It's been a week for you, come on." The long arms wrapped around him and Sherlock buried his face in John's shoulder. The thrusts went from long and deliberate to short and staggered. "Come on," John repeated and the hips awkwardly pushed up.

"John," Sherlock mumbled before John felt the hot liquid fill him up. Sherlock was still for a second, his arms tight around John's waist. And then he pulled back and slammed forward again. John felt more cum, and felt it slipping out of him and around Sherlock. "God," Sherlock said as his body relaxed and he settled part of his weight on John.

They were quiet for a long few minutes, each catching their breath and calming their hearts.

"Happy birthday," Sherlock whispered pulling away. John felt cold without him, but straightened and turned.

"Thank you," he said giving Sherlock a quick kiss. "Thank you for breakfast, and lunch, and," he gestured towards the kitchen, "dinner."

Sherlock reached around John and pulled him into a hug. "You're welcome. Your present is on the table and dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes."

"And you're going back to Scotland Yard," John finished for him, pulling back enough to look at the grey eyes. He saw genuine hesitation there, genuine indecisiveness. He needed to go though, John knew that. The thief was due to strike again any day and they needed Sherlock to help find him. John would have gone along if he didn't have to work in the morning.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, meaning it. John smiled up at him and leaned up to give him another kiss. Sherlock had walked away from a case for hours today, an important and difficult case. All because it was John's birthday and it was unthinkable for Sherlock to not acknowledge the birth of John.

"Don't be. I know." John smiled up at him. "Thank you, really. I had a lovely birthday."

Sherlock frowned at him in disbelief, not understanding that it was all relative. John and John alone was the only thing that would ever separate Sherlock Holmes from a case. John knew that and appreciated it. He pulled away, giving Sherlock's ass a quick squeeze as he did so. He saw the flash of desire in the grey eyes and smiled.

"How much longer do you think this case will take?" John asked. "If it's goes through the weekend I can tag along, help out." He reached down and grabbed their clothes and tossed them towards the door. He'd do laundry tonight after Sherlock left and he ate dinner.

"Hopefully not that long," Sherlock said. "Donovan is such an idiot though; I'm certain her talking to the press has alerted the man that we're waiting for him. He might not strike again or he might move to a completely different area. I need to get back to the Yard so that I can watch the incoming calls, see if I can spot the signature." John nodded, picking up his shoes and tossing them in the general direction of the stairs. If he could be caught, Sherlock would catch him.

"Can you shower with me before you go?" John asked and Sherlock grinned.

"Of course," he replied holding out a hand. John took it.


End file.
